


Satisfaction

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Brainwashing, F/M, M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 00:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: Sultan Jafar has two very cherished pets, pets cherished in two very different ways.





	Satisfaction

Jafar's advisers scuttled to get out of the way as the angry Sultan shoved himself back from the table, kicking over the chair before striding away imperiously. 

They let the fuming sorcerer go, protests and excusing failing on their lips as he vengefully gestured behind him, the fallen chair bursting into flame. 

Only one ran to catch up, falling into a slinky stride beside him.

The Princess Jasmine. 

Or rather, the former Princess Jasmine. Now, just Jasmine, or sometimes, just girl, or whore, or slut or pet.

In her red gauze and dangling gold necklaces she was a walking ornament, a decadent one at that. Her black hair piled high behind a gold tiara (for show, she had no real power, after all) and a heavy color inlaid with rubies around her slender neck, she jingled softly when she walked. Jafar liked that; she reminded him of a cat, his pussycat. 

Even in his irritation over his incompetent advisers (how dare they tell him full scale war against all his neighboring kingdoms was unwise?) she still had the power to please him with her unquestionable obedience. But it wasn't her soft curves, cooing words, and tittering laugh he wanted now. No, he wanted his boy.

Far, far away from everything and everyone else, his boy was kept in a chamber. Unlike his desert flower, paraded around like the fleshy trophy she was, his boy had no freedom. This difference pleased a smug, shallow Jasmine, who in her eternal hypnotism competed for Jafar's affection as his life-long slave. She tried to slyly take a hold of his hand as he fumbled with the keys to the chamber-door, her nimble fingers twisting in his beard as a demanding ploy for attention.

"Not now, slave, I have other matters to attend to." He said brusquely, shoving her away. 

She made a noise of irritation, her lip distending slightly in a pout.

"With him?" she asked petulantly. 

As the heavy door swung open, Jafar stopped to chuckle a bit at her tone. Her attitude provoked him when she was Princess, but now, as impotent as she was, it was actually entertaining. And her jealousy pleased him as well. She should desire his attention; he was her world, now. But then another thought stilled his hand yet again...a rich, savory thought, a thought that opened up a world of entertainment. Or rather it was a realization about just how far his two pets had fallen, and how irreversibly and deeply they had changed.....

Leaving her behind, he entered the room, not needing to look around at how cold and barren it was, the only furniture a large, circular bed, out of place in the sterile, unwelcoming room with is cushions piled high and it's variety of furs and silks.

The single occupant raised his head from where he was seated on the floor, only to have Jafar's hand crash across his face, sending him back to the floor. Jasmine huffed impatiently as she sidled in, uninvited, and took a post reclining against the door frame. 

Jasmine, he would ravish; he would sate his greed, lust, satisfaction and triumph between her thighs. With her body he would stroke the fires of his ego higher and higher, befitting a sorcerer-lord. But when he was angry, when the troubles of ruling burdened him, when a frustration nagged at his mind, only the strong, bruised body of Aladdin would do. 

Another kick of his pointed boot to the boy's stomach, and Jafar was disappointed to find his rage undiminished. What was wrong?

"You," he spat. "Get up."

The boy turned his head and coughed out some blood, before raising himself to his feet, facing Jafar without fear or pretense in his eyes. 

His boy wasn't treated as well as Jasmine, that much was true. Oh, it pleased him to clothe the once-street-rat in the garments of a royal consort, blue silk juxtaposed against Jasmine's red, in loose pants that hung off his hips, down to his bare feet, golden bangles around his ankles and around his wrists. His hair was kept perfumed and long, combed into a more silken version of itself. But his eyes were hollow, the space under them bruised. Unattended wounds peppered his body: a swollen wrist, a split lip, a fractured collarbone and a welt across his exposed chest from Jafar's belt. 

"I want you to fight me when I hit you, do you understand?"

A look of nervous confusion in his slave's eyes. Jasmine leaned forward in interest. 

"Master?"

"You heard me slave. Resist me."

Aladdin's eyes darted to his master's heavy gaze, going beyond him to search Jasmine's face for answers. Was this a trick? Surely he wasn't allowed to strike his master, even in defense. But the power of Jafar's snake staff prevailed, and obedience clicked despite Aladdin's reservations.

"Yes Master."

Jafar raised his hand to backhand the boy, only to have a hand shoot up to stop his from falling. Excitement coursed through Jafar in a flush as he was reminded of the old days, the old battles, and the thrill of the fight and ultimate conquering. A knee to the stomach pushed Aladdin back, but he danced away from the swing of Jafar's staff against his knee. He went to run past Jafar, only to have Jafar snatch him by the hair and throw him to his feet, the boy's skull cracking against the tile. Aladdin groaned in pain, but to his credit, rolled away before Jafar's foot could come down upon his neck.

Yes. 

Yes. This was what he was missing, the fight in the boy. Though drowned in a spell of obedience, some of the old-Aladdin was making itself known: the cleverness, the quickness, the toughness. 

Yes, it was nice to have the little hero docile and numb to his whims. To have the once-proud upstart both bend in a bow and to receive Jafar's cock. Jasmine was a pleasant fuck, soft, nubile, twisting and malleable. She pleased him like the best of whores. But fucking his boy was another matter entirely. Aladdin's body did not follow where his spirit did so long ago, did not surrender. Oh, it splayed itself willingly, took every inch of Jafar and more, but there was ball of muscle there, a tension that would not let go that suggested to Jafar that even though Aladdin submitted, his body never truly would. 

Jafar liked the challenge. 

Aladdin gasped in relief when Jafar's hands left his throat, the older man straddling him on the bed. He went to rise, to fight back, only to have Jafar's curt "Enough" stop his display. He fell back on the bed, curling into a ball when Jafar rose. 

Jafar was almost sated enough, almost fully satisfied, save for one bit of devious curiosity left unexplored.

"Jasmine, my pet, come here." 

Without a delay, Jasmine left her lounging place, and came to stand next to Jafar by the bed. She hummed when he went to rub her neck, fingers massaging behind her ears, but was disappointed when he instructed-

"Look at your little playmate, Jasmine."

Jafar paid close attention to her pitiless gaze, her cold disinterest in the broken boy on the bed. Aladdin was not her anything. Indeed, she resented the way this un-extraordinary boy took away Jafar's interest from her, the way the sorcerer would look at Aladdin with such fire in his eyes, when only embers of lust would touch her. 

Aladdin turned his face miserably from hers into the covers. He was always unable to meet her gaze, to speak to her, ever since Jafar spelled them both into servitude. Jafar was inclined to believe the sight of her brought pain to his chained heart, a barely discernible reminder of love and lost his enslaved mind could barely understand. 

"Yes Master?" Jasmine asked.

With a wide grin, Jafar leaned his chin on her shoulder, speaking in an excited whisper into her ear.

"I want you to pretend, my desert flower, just for a moment, that you love him."

Jasmine made an incredulous noise, looking backwards and up into Jafar's face to argue, only to have him grab her chin forcefully and return her attention back to Aladdin.

"This is an order, slave. Attend to the boy, comfort him, imagine you love him, like I commanded." 

With a displeased huff, Jasmine eyed Aladdin for a moment before climbing up onto the bed with him, rubbing his shoulder uselessly. Jafar's gaze indicated her to continue, and she folded her legs, dragging Aladdin, though horrified, to lay in her lap. He went to resist, but caught Jafar's stern eye as well, and stayed, though stiff and uncomfortable in the former princess's hands. 

Jasmine ran her perfectly manicured nails through his hair, murmuring what she thought were comforting things. Aladdin relaxed a little, looking up at her in watery disbelief as she went to mechanically clean his bleeding mouth with the hem of her own blouse. Then their eyes met.

Jafar could barely contain his hiss of satisfaction.

Aladdin was caught, pinioned by the same beautiful eyes that he fell in love with so many years ago and he groaned with the pain and pleasure to relive it all again. Jasmine's hard edges were falling away, looking into the brown eyes she grew to love and trust, and her hand strayed to his lips, touching where she once had kissed. They were remembering. Though Jafar knew his spells would hold, that they were his slaves at the end of the day, they were finding old bridges between them knitting back together, painfully, like stitches. 

He snatched Jasmine's arm without a word, dragging her away from Aladdin, whose hand went reaching for her. Jasmine sputtered in hurt confusion, her perfect-whore veneer faltering as Jafar shut the door behind them, Aladdin's howl of pain delicious to his ears.

Now.

Now, he was satisfied.

**********I will write a sequel or more like this, given one or two reviews***************************


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